Line
by A for Anarchy
Summary: This is the thirteenth fic in my one-word prompt series. AU Petyr/ Sansa pairing. Rated M for mature content and swearing.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own _A Song of Ice and Fire_; it belongs to GRRM (may he live forever).

**Author's Note**: This is the thirteenth fic in my one-word prompt series. AU Petyr/Sansa pairing. Please exercise caution when reading this fic as it does feature a sexual encounter with a minor.

* * *

It was something he had been told all his life: there are lines that you cannot cross, and if you do, be prepared to face the consequences. But, for as long as he had been hearing that trite saying, Petyr had been crossing lines. When other men did business honestly, he lied and cheated; where men used their strength to intimidate and overcome, he used his intellect to subvert and destroy.

Strangely, he had managed to sidestep the consequences and forge a life where the laws of gods and men did not apply to him. However, a life lived breaking the rules did nothing to ready him for the situation in which he found himself at present: Sansa Stark, naked and in his bed. Gods, she was only seventeen.

Seventeen and perfect, ripe and ready for plucking. She was temptation itself, and she was between his sheets wearing nothing but a coy smile and a come-hither look in her eyes. _Where had she learned that? _

"What are you doing here, Sansa?"

"I wanted to visit you, Uncle Petyr, but then I got sleepy."

"It's just Petyr, Sansa, please. I'm not married to your aunt anymore."

He watched as her smile turned to a grin that lit up her eyes, "Yeah, that's pretty convenient, _Uncle_ Petyr."

"There is nothing convenient about this situation. You've broken into my home and are now occupying the bed that I wish to sleep in. I would say that this situation is not only inconvenient, but illegal as well."

Sansa's grin had become a pout, "I didn't break in, I took the key you gave to mum. Why did she get a key anyway? And, what do you care about illegal? I've heard what they say about you, you're willing to do _anything_."

Petyr sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, "I gave that key to your mother in case of an emergency, not for you to use in some practical joke. And who are these 'people' you've been talking to about me, Sansa? You know, it's not nice to talk about people behind their backs. I could get my feelings hurt."

She snorted and sat up in the bed against the headboard, "I think it would take a bit more than words to hurt you."

He allowed himself a smirk, "Yes, well, that is quite beside the point. Who have you been talking to?"

"Just people, you know, I was curious."

"Next time you're feeling curious, come to me. I'll be honest, probably."

Sansa was grinning again, "Why do you think I came here, Uncle Petyr? I was curious. I didn't think it would be this awkward though. You've barely looked at me."

"And why should I be looking at you, Sansa? I can think of several good reasons why I shouldn't, Cat and your father to name two."

The grin dropped from her face entirely, and whatever modesty she had been trying to preserve was lost as she threw herself out of the bed and stormed over to him. Gods, she was _exquisite_. Her breasts were high and firm, her hair was long and fiery, and her eyes flashed with anger. She was the avatar of a goddess come to visit herself upon him…and she was stabbing his chest with her finger.

"That's it, that right there! I'm tired of hearing that, _Petyr_!" She punctuated each word with a jab of her finger.

Petyr was utterly confused, a rare occurrence, "What in the hells are you on about?"

"The way you say her name, '_Caaat_,' like you're making fucking love to it! I'm sick of it!"

He grabbed her hand before she could stab at him again and tightened his around hers warningly, "That was not kind of you, my dear, and you would be wise not to mock me. Now, take a deep breath and try again."

Sansa did as instructed and inhaled; Petyr had to fight a similar response when he saw how her breasts rose up invitingly. Her nipples were puckering, and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to suckle at them.

His attention was snatched away by Sansa letting out her breath in a noisy exhale, "I want you to look at me! I want you to _see_ me! All the years I've known you and you've never looked at anyone else. I'm tired of it. If you won't look, I'll make you!"

She wrenched her hand from his and grasped his head, drawing it down to hers, smashing her lips onto his.

As far as kisses went, it was underwhelming, more teeth and anger than lips and softness, but it jolted through his body all the same. How could he refuse such an invitation?

At that moment, it didn't matter that she was only seventeen, or that she was the daughter of the only woman he had ever loved because at that moment, there was no one else but them. He took her hands, she fought him a little, no doubt scared that he would break the kiss, but she quieted when he placed them on his chest.

When he drew back from her, she protested, "No, please!" He silenced her with a finger to her lips, "Shh, sweetling, quiet now." She nodded, eyes bright with a mixture of anticipation and misery; he moved his hand to cup her cheek and stepped closer. Her bare breasts would have been touching his chest were it not for her hands, and he spared a moment of regret for that.

He tilted her head and whispered against her lips, "Like this, Sansa, softly, at first." Petyr brushed his lips across hers in a feather-light motion that had her shivering. His lips left hers briefly, "And then, harder." He returned to her lips, this time giving the upper a light nip before sweeping his tongue across the seam. Sansa gasped and he followed it back into her mouth, swallowing the sound.

Petyr was merciless in his conquering of Sansa's mouth, his tongue tangled with hers until he pulled it back and felt hers following after. She was more timid in her approach, darting in then retreating.

Gradually, he broke the kiss, pulling back in increments. She gave a soft sigh as he placed one last kiss on her lips.

"I'm looking at you now, Sansa."

"Yes, you are, finally. But, you didn't even touch me. I wanted you to…"

Petyr looked at her wonderingly, "Really, and what did you expect the outcome of me touching you to be, sweetling?"

Sansa rolled her eyes, "Sex, obviously."

The eye roll was endearing, and it made him smile, "Hmm, well, sweetling, you're going home disappointed. I don't bed innocent children."

He watched as a sly smile flitted across her face, "That won't be a problem then, I waved goodbye to my virginity a while ago, and I'm definitely not a child."

Petyr felt an irrational anger surge through him. How dare she waste her perfection on some stupid boy, some fumbling youth? The hand he had cupping her cheek was suddenly grabbing her chin, squeezing it until he saw her flinch.

"That was quite a foolish thing to do, Sansa, if you did in fact fuck some mewling boy. I would hate to think you were foolish. Now, sweetling, care to amend that statement?"

Sansa stared at him defiantly, fire smoldering in her eyes. "What does it matter to you who I fuck if you're not willing to do it yourself? I might as well leave now and fuck the next man I see."

Logically, he knew that she was trying to get a rise out of him, but he found that he was not above teaching her a lesson about how dangerous it was to taunt a man like him. He trailed his hand down her face and chest, groping her breast and thumbing her nipple. Instead of watching his hand around her perfect breast, he watched her face, saw her mouth part and her pupils dilate. Petyr gave her nipple a vicious pinch, delighting in her pained gasp, "The boys you fucked, did they touch you like this?"

"N-no!"

"D'you like how I touch you, d'you like the bit of pain?"

"Yes!"

"Would you like some more?"

"_Gods, yes!"_

Keeping the one hand on her breast, he smoothed the other down her belly, feeling it ripple beneath his fingers. He reached her cunt and let his fingers hover over it; he could feel her heat radiating out, but he didn't touch her.

"Why'd you stop?"

"I'm waiting."

"What?"

"I'm waiting for you to beg me like you begged those boys, like you would begs those men out there."

"I never begged."

"Then this will be new for you. Beg."

"Please, Uncle—"

"Tsk, tsk, I'm not your uncle, sweetling; try again."

"Please, Petyr, touch me!"

"Touch you where?"

"Touch—touch my…"

"Are you sure you've been fucked before, Sansa? One would assume that you would be more comfortable with words like 'cunt' or clit' if you had."

"I'm just fine with them!"

"Then _use_ them. I want you to beg me, and be…specific."

"Touch my clit," she said firmly.

"How?"

And there she faltered, "I don't know?"

"Do you want me to stroke it? Circle it? Tap it? Pinch it?" As he asked, he demonstrated each movement on her, and though she gave a little cry with every one, she cried the loudest when he pinched her.

"You like that, don't you? That sharp bite of pain with your pleasure gets you hot. Did they know that, those_ boys_?"

"No-oh!"

Another pinch to her clit and she squirmed against him. "So, sweetling, beg me for the pain, beg me for my fingers."

"Y-your fingers, p-pinch my clit!"

"Just pinching?"

"No, s-stroke it, please!"

"Stroke where?"

"My clit," she practically sobbed.

Petyr obliged her, and she was gasping in seconds. "Is this enough for you, my fingers on your clit, or do you want something more?"

"I want—oh! I want your cock!"

"'Cock,' now there's a filthy word. I told you, sweetling, I'm not going to fuck you."

"Then—then I want your fingers in my cunt!"

"Hmm, not enough, sweetling."

"Tw-two fingers, hard!"

"That's better." He slipped two fingers into her cunt, reveling in her wetness and warmth. "You're tight, sweetling, a bit too tight for a girl with your experience. Would you like to take back your earlier statement?"

Sansa shook her head.

"Are you absolutely positive?" He curled his fingers against a spongy spot in her cunt and pulled his fingers downwards. She screamed in ecstasy and finally admitted the truth he had suspected all along, "I lied! Gods, I lied; there's never been anyone else, just you!"

"Yes," he purred into her ear, "just me. I quite like that idea. And you?" Petyr curled his fingers again and she shuddered.

"Please, yes!"

"Do you do this when you're alone? Finger yourself and think of me?"

"Ye-ah-es!"

"Do you come on your fingers wishing they were my cock?" He pushed his fingers into her hard and pulled them back slowly, repeating the motion several times before she answered, "Yes, every time!"

"Good. This time, when you come, you'll do it on _my_ fingers and you'll be screaming my name. You're close now, I can feel it."

Sansa nodded desperately, "Please, a little more, please, Petyr!"

He thrust upwards one last time, stroking over her clit with his thumb. She shattered under his fingers and screamed his name. Petyr continued to stroke her gently, calming her as she came down. He cradled her head to his chest and waited for her breathing to even out; when it did, he set her back from him.

"There now, that's better, isn't it?" The fire in Sansa's eyes was banked and she nodded sleepily.

"You run along home, sweetling, it's close to your bedtime."

"'M not a child, Petyr, don't need a bedtime."

"All the same, you need to be getting home."

"Mkay. Gonna think about you, later."

"Twice in one night? You are a greedy little thing."

"Don't pr'ten' you didn't like it. I could _feel_ you."

"Hmm, yes, I rather did, but you'll not be getting me out of my clothes any time soon."

"Does that mean I get to try again?"

"You're a cheeky girl, sweetling." He ran a finger down her cheek and tapped her lips lightly, "Did you hear me ask for my key back?"

"No…"

"No," he agreed.

Petyr watched in silence as she dressed, the sight of her covering up the skin that had so recently been explored by him was a titillating one. He would replay it, and the rest of their encounter, while he stroked himself later.

She finished and he walked her to the door, his hand in the small of her back. "Go straight home, sweetling, and take care, I hear that there are men masquerading as wolves out there."

Sansa smiled crookedly at him, "That's alright; I've got a mockingbird in my pocket." She gave him a quick kiss on his lips and walked out to her car.

Petyr stood in the doorway until she had driven away, "In her pocket, am I," he mused, "well, there are worse places I could be."


End file.
